


Welcome to LA

by mldrgrl



Series: Adventures of The Lady Detective and The Writer [2]
Category: Californication, The Fall (TV)
Genre: F/M, Lust, No longer a one night stand, Star-crossed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 18:40:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8068468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mldrgrl/pseuds/mldrgrl
Summary: A sequel to The Adventure of The Lady Detective and The Writer, which can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7833427





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [歡迎來到洛杉磯](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13448385) by [amamitouko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amamitouko/pseuds/amamitouko)



The Porsche crawled up Pacific Coast Highway at a snail’s pace. Hank downshifted restlessly, coming to a full stop behind the line of cars trying to move north. Southbound traffic breezed by. His cell phone rang and he lifted his hip to pull it out of his back pocket without bothering to check the number.

 

“Talk to me,” he said.

 

“Hank Moody?” asked a quiet voice bearing a hint of an English accent.

 

“Who dis who ask who dat?”

 

“Come, Watson, the game is afoot.”

Hank grinned into the phone and relaxed back in his seat. “That you, Sherlock?”

 

“Good of you to remember.”

 

“I never forget a woman of beauty and mystery, such as yourself. Especially one with magnificent tits.”

 

“I’m quite sure you’ve said the same to many women.”

 

“Only the ones with magnificent tits. And they have to call six months later and ask me first. What can I do you for, Sherlock?”

 

“As it happens, I’m in LA for the weekend.”

 

“And you looked me up? I’m flattered.”

 

“Perhaps you’d like to meet for a drink.”

 

The car in front of Hank inched forward and he held the phone with his shoulder to reach for the stick shift.

 

“Where are you staying?” he asked.

 

“The Sofitel on Beverly.”

 

Instead of moving ahead, Hank leaned his head out the window to check for oncoming traffic and then quickly pulled a u-turn when it was clear to head to Beverly Hills.

 

“Give me forty-five minutes,” he said.

 

“I’ll be in the lounge.” She hung up and he slipped his phone back into his pocket before shifting into third.

 

Just shy of an hour later, Hank walked into the lounge of the Sofitel and spotted Stella immediately. She was perched in the corner of the sectional sofa seating, her back mostly to the rest of the room as she paged through some sort of magazine or file. She leaned on one hip and held a drink on her knee. Her hair was longer than when he saw her last, the curls looser over her shoulder. She wore a short-sleeved, navy blouse, tucked primly into a pair of black slacks.

 

Behind her, three men in business suits ogled her from their angle. Hank was sure they couldn’t see much more than her profile, but obviously it was enough, and why shouldn’t it be? She looked every bit as beautiful and untouchable as he remembered, a lethal combination to drive any red-blooded man wild. He slouched down onto the sofa beside her and put a hand on her neck as he leaned over and kissed her cheek, just grazing the edge of her lips. From the corner of his eye, he caught the disappointed looks of the three businessmen that didn’t stand a snowballs chance in hell to begin with.

 

“You’re late,” she said, turning a page in her magazine without looking at him.

 

“Traffic,” he answered. “Lovely to see you too.”

 

Stella closed the magazine she was reading and pushed it aside. He glanced at the cover. _Science & Justice_. She pushed her fingers through her hair as she took a sip from her drink, eyeing him over the rim of her glass.

 

“Have I pulled you away from anything?” she asked.

 

“I kind of make my own schedule. Consider me at your disposal.”

 

She glanced up towards the bartender and then over to him. “Would you like a drink?”

 

“Maybe later,” he said, eyes drawn to the vee of her blouse where a hint of cleavage peeked through when she moved her arm. “What brings you to LA? Business or pleasure.”

 

“Both,” she answered, “and I’m finished with the business.”

 

“All pleasure from here on out, then?”

 

“That is the intention.”

 

“Like I said, consider me at your disposal.”

 

Stella took another sip of her drink and then licked the side of her mouth. She turned her eyes toward Hank and looked him over like she was surveying a crime scene. Serious and impersonal. It made him uncomfortable. He sat up and took her drink out of her hand, reaching over to set it on little table in front of them.   He put his fist down on the couch behind her back and leaned into her. She watched him without a hint of interest, her eyes drifting down to his mouth as he dipped his head towards her. He opened her mouth with his lips, sliding his tongue over hers and up to run along the inside of her cheek before he pulled back.

 

“You taste like whiskey,” he said, brushing his nose up her cheek to her ear.

 

“As well I should.”

 

“What room are you in?”

 

“411.”

 

“Would you like me to wait ten minutes and follow you up, or do you have something else in mind this time?”

 

“Why waste time?” she answered, angling her body towards his and leaning close. Her right breast pressed into his arm but it was only to reach for the magazine by his hip and then she stood.

 

Hank stood as well and she bent over and downed the rest of her drink while he ran his hands over her hips. A quick glance at the trio of admirers told him they were seething with jealousy and he grinned to himself, keeping one hand low on the side of her ass as they walked across the lobby.

 

Her hotel room was brighter and airier than the one she had before. But, it was LA, not London, and it was the middle of the day instead of the middle of the night. The Hollywood hills were the backdrop this time, a much different landscape than the London skyline.

 

Stella had her hands up his shirt within seconds of getting him into the room. She peeled it up and over his head and gave him a sharp push against his chest so that he landed back on the bed with a bounce. Always in a hurry, he remembered.

 

“Have another flight to catch?” he asked.

 

“We can do it your way later,” she answered, nudging his knees apart to step between his legs. He perked up at ‘later.’ Later could mean six months from now, but the way she said it gave him the feeling it was a lot closer to later today or tomorrow than the indeterminable future and he relaxed a little.

 

Contrary to what people may think of him, Hank didn’t go around trying to have one night stands. He loved love and he loved commitment. He had loved being committed to Karen and it was the happiest time in his life. When that relationship had been broken, he had tried to turn his back on commitment, and love, but it wasn’t who he was. In his own fucked up way he had fallen in love with every woman he had ever been with; for fleeting seconds, for days, forever, in Karen’s case, and he’d been in love with Stella for six months. He never expected to see her again, but he was in love with her all the same. ‘Later,’ was like music to his ears.

 

Stella’s fingers skimmed the top of Hanks jeans and she used her thumbnail to open the snap at the top. She pulled his zipper down and he lifted his hips, but she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him down instead. He wasn’t surprised when she took his hands and pinned them over his head while she leaned over and ran her tongue over his mouth. He lifted his head to go after her when she pulled away and she squeezed his hands as she kissed him back down again.

 

Stella’s forearms came down to rest on top of Hank’s, elbows alongside his on the bed. Her body was like a featherweight on his chest, but her hips were raised off his. With a shift of her leg, her thigh pressed against his waking erection. He hummed a little with appreciation and she leaned a little harder into him. She sucked at his mouth and rocked steadily against him until he was straining in the confines of his pants, the tip of his penis just beginning to escape from his jockey shorts.

 

Stella reached one hand down and wrapped her fingers around him. She lifted her body up from his and their lips came away with a smack. He grunted softly as she rubbed his shaft with her palm and squeezed the underside of his balls with her fingers. Her eyes never left his as she worked him with her hand. Her grip was firm, alternating between stroking and pausing to circle the head with her thumb.

 

“Don’t. Move,” she whispered, and nipped his bottom lip before slipping her hand out of his shorts and slithering down between his legs to her knees.

 

Hank lifted his head a fraction to look down his chest as she gave enough of a tug on his pants to let his erection spring free. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and took him into her mouth. He fought the urge to thrust his hips. Equally, he fought the urge to touch her, even to comb his fingers through her hair. He had the notion that this was some sort of test of his ability to submit.

 

Stella wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft and Hank watched her head bob slowly up and down. She squeezed him lightly and hummed as she took him deeper. He felt the vibration of the back of her throat and he clenched his thighs to keep his hips still. She let go of him and dug her fingers into his tight muscles, pressing his legs down with the weight of her upper body.

 

“Mmm, Stella,” he moaned. “Stella, Stella.”

 

She raised her eyes to his, circling her tongue around the tip of his cock before she pulled her head away from him and licked her lips. He nearly groaned in despair from the loss of her mouth.

 

“So, it’s Stella now?” she asked.

 

“Oh, I didn’t tell you? I refuse to be on a first name basis with anyone until I find out how good of a blow job they give.”

 

“Then I suggest you lie back and let me finish.”

 

“Can I touch you?”

 

“No.”

 

“Later?”

 

Stella opened her mouth, but she said nothing, just took him back inside, tongue first. He closed his eyes and focused on the sensation. Soft, warm, wet, steady. She built him up until he was pulsating. His balls tightened and he clenched his thighs again, disobeying her orders and covering her hand on his hip.

 

“I’m gonna come,” he warned.

 

She hummed again, pulling her hand out from under his and then holding on to his wrist. She lifted her head just a little and sucked her cheeks in.

 

“Fuck, Stella,” he groaned, the explosion of his orgasm hitting him from the toes up through his groin.

 

Stella continued to lick and suck with increasing gentleness until he became flaccid in her mouth. She sat back on her heels, dragging her hands down his thighs. A few moments passed and then she stood, looking down at him with a neutral expression on her face before she turned and walked away. He chuckled lightly when she came back to him with a warm washcloth and cleaned him up before tucking him back in his shorts.

 

Hank rolled over as Stella started to walk away again and grabbed her hand, pulling her back to sit in front of him. He moved up and rested his chin on her shoulder as he wrapped his right arm around her waist.

 

“Is it later yet?” he asked.

 

Stella breathed deeply and her shoulders moved back into his chest. He wrapped his left arm around the other side of her and squeezed her breast while pulling her blouse out of her pants. His nimble fingers undid the buttons at the top of her shirt with one hand and with the other he unbuttoned her pants. He slipped his hand inside her half-open blouse and pushed the satin cup of her bra aside to roll her nipple between his fingers. At the same time, he slipped his other hand inside her pants and curled his middle finger up through her slippery heat. She arched her back and rolled her head to the side, exposing her neck for his lips.

 

She felt hot and swollen to him, ready to burst. The muscles lining her walls pulled at his finger, urging him deeper. He searched for the pulpy lining of flesh with the pad of his finger, knowing from experience that the g-spot was no myth. When he hit it, she rolled her hips forward into his hand and there was a hitch in her breath. He rubbed the sensitive spot in slow circles, teasing her with gentle pressure.

 

Stella’s back was hot against his chest. Her hips pushed against his hand and he pushed back. He let her grind herself against him as he stroked her, moving quicker when she threw her head back against his shoulder. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open, expelling her breath in short, soft pants that pushed her chest into his hand. He’d nearly forgotten about her breast and he pinched the nipple again.

 

With a gasp, Stella jerked in his arms and she squeezed her thighs closed against his hand with bone-crushing pressure. He held onto her as she quivered, finger curled and hand pressed roughly against her pubic bone, until she relaxed and loosened her thighs. He’d never known someone so quiet.

 

Hank waited, letting her be the one to pull away, and she moved off the bed without looking back. He wiped his hands on the washcloth that was left behind. The water in the bathroom ran for a long time and he got up to go stand in the doorway, zipping his jeans, but leaving the snap undone. Stella was splashing water on her face, her hair pulled back in a loose band, shirt buttoned and tucked back into her pants. He braced both arms on either side of the doorframe and watched.

 

“How long are you here for?” he asked.

 

She turned the water off and patted her face with a towel. “I’ve a flight on Monday morning,” she answered.

 

“Plans for sightseeing? Disneyland?”

 

“I’m not much of a tourist.”

 

“If I were unavailable today, what would you have done?”

 

“Perhaps I’d still be in the bar,” she answered, and threw down her towel, turning to him and looking up into his eyes. “Or perhaps I’d be up here with one of the businessmen who weren’t trying very hard to obviously be leering.”

 

“They weren’t your type.”

 

“I don’t have a type.”

 

Hank dropped his arms and stepped into the bathroom, moving up so he was standing in front of her. She tipped her head back and crossed her arms. He pulled the band out of her hair and cupped the back of her head, just above the nape.

 

“Check out of this hotel,” he said. “Stay with me.”

 

“What an absurd thing to say.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I don’t know you.”

 

“Didn’t stop you from fucking me.”

 

“That’s quite different.”

 

“I didn’t tell you my last name, and still, crack investigator that you are, you found me. I’m sure you know more about me than me, Sherlock.”

 

“A phone number is not very difficult to obtain.”

 

“I wouldn’t know, I usually just ask and either I get it, or I don’t.” He placed his hands beside her hips on the counter and bent down, trapping her in the cage of his arms as he nuzzled her throat and jaw. “I live on the beach,” he said. “You can hear the ocean from my room.”

 

Stella put her hands on Hank’s head and pulled him up from her neck.

 

“What does this hotel have that I don’t?” he asked.

 

“Room service,” she answered.

 

“Oh, I’ve got room service. And turn down service. Lip service.” He raised his brows suggestively at her. “I can even leave a little mint on the pillow if you want me to.”

 

“Why complicate things?”

 

“Staying a weekend is hardly complicated. But,” he said, backing away from her a few paces. “If you’d rather find a stranger in a bar, I’ll go.”

 

“You were a stranger in a bar six months ago.”

 

“Now I’m someone you know in LA, offering you an uncomplicated weekend at the beach.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Why not?”

 

To Hank’s delight and surprise, she said acquiesced. He pulled his t-shirt on as she packed her bag. His curiosity was piqued by the fact that she hadn’t unpacked to begin with. A few items from the bathroom were relocated back to a toiletries kit and a garment bag was pulled from the closet, but other than that, her suitcase was intact and she was ready to go.

 

Whatever the hold up had been on PCH earlier was clear by the time Hank was back on the road with her. The sun was setting, sliced in half by the horizon and surrounded by a purple and pink sky with only wisps of clouds remaining. Stella’s hair swirled in the open air. He couldn’t stop glancing at her every opportunity he got, almost trying to convince himself she wasn’t an illusion.

 

When they got to his place, Hank stowed her suitcase in his room and showed her around the beach house, telling her about Charlie, who was, thankfully, out of town for a full month. He wouldn’t have even asked her to stay for the weekend if not for that fact, very much under the impression that she was an exceedingly private person who would not appreciate the company of another.

 

“Can I get you anything?” Hank asked. “A drink? I’ll call out for dinner in a bit.”

 

“May I?” she asked, her hand on the bi-fold doors that led to the deck.

 

“Of course.”

 

Stella slid the doors open and stepped out onto the deck. She glided past the fire pit and deck chairs to stand at the railing and stood with her arms crossed facing the ocean. She looked indifferent and there was also a melancholy about her that drew him to her.

 

“I want you to feel free to make yourself at home,” he said, leaning on the railing next to her.

 

“I don’t have a home,” she murmured, and he turned his head to find her squinting into the sunset.

 

“Where do you live?”

 

“In hotels,” she answered, matter-of-factly. “I think I will take that drink.”

 

“Sure. Whiskey neat?”

 

Stella inclined her head towards his, but kept her eyes on the ocean. She nodded once and he left her on the deck to go to the liquor cabinet and pour them both a drink. He was a little uneasy with her quietness and stoicism. He could tell she was a very serious person, but he was starting to wonder if she even knew how to relax.

 

Hank brought Stella her drink and sat back in one of the lounge chairs, watching her as she watched the sunset and sipped her drink. She turned to him when the sky finally turned grey with twilight and her lips lifted a fraction into an almost smile. He smiled back at her and held his hand out for her empty glass.

 

“I’m not sure I’ve ever watched a sunset,” she said, keeping hold of the top of her glass as he stood and grasped the bottom of it.

 

“There’ll be one tomorrow too. And the day after that. Same time, same place.”

 

Her lips lifted again and she turned the glass over to him.

 

“What would you like for dinner?” he asked.

 

He ended up ordering Japanese and turned the gas on in the fire pit so they could eat outside. Stella wasn’t much of a conversationalist and Hank found he couldn’t shut up to fill the silence. He ended up talking about Karen and Becca, essentially telling her his life story over one meal. She didn’t ask questions, but at the very least, she didn’t look bored or annoyed.

 

Later on, after they finished eating, after Hank had stopped talking, after he turned the fire on low, and the ocean beat a steady crash-and-sizzle rhythm in the background, he began to clear the remnants of their meal. As he finished putting plates and glasses in the dishwasher, he turned to find Stella behind him, unbuttoning her blouse.

 

“You know we don’t have to,” he said.

 

“Don’t have to what?”

 

“Do anything.”

 

“ _D_ o anything,” she repeated, lifting one brow up into an arch, continuing to unbutton her blouse. “You don’t want to fuck me?”

 

“Of course I want to fuck you, you’re very…fuckable.”

 

“I don’t _do anything_ I don’t want to do, Hank.”

 

He nodded once, knowing that was probably the truest statement she’d ever spoken. “Shut up and fuck me, Hank?” he asked.

 

She stepped up close to him, looking up into his eyes as her fingers tugged on the belt loops of his jeans. He leaned down to kiss her, but she tipped her head down and turned away from him, shedding clothes behind her as she made her way into his room and he followed. First the blouse, then the bra, then her heels, then a pause to step out of her slacks.

 

Wearing only a pair of black lace panties, she crawled onto the bed and rolled over to lounge on her elbows, knees bent slightly. He stood at the end of the bed, admiring the view. She raised an eyebrow when he didn’t make a move toward her and then extended her leg, running the top of her foot up the inside of his thigh.

 

“Take your shirt off,” she said.

 

Hank pulled at his collar at the back of his neck and tossed the t-shirt onto the floor. Stella’s foot travelled higher up his thigh and then her big toe ran along the seam at the front of his jeans, getting the blood flowing into his cock.

 

“And the pants,” she said, her foot retreating so she could slide back just a little further up the bed and lay her head on a pillow.

 

Hank unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, taking them off with his jockey shorts at the same time. He stayed at the foot of the bed, watching her as she looked at his body, eyes resting on his erection. He stroked himself a few times to get Little Hank to his full potential and then dropped his hand back to his side. Her face revealed nothing of what she might be thinking, and he thought she must be a fantastic poker player. Finally, her gaze shifted to his face and her knees parted in invitation.

 

Hank crawled onto the bed into the open space between Stella’s legs. He stopped with his hands pressed on either side of her hips and his forearms pushing against the back of her thighs. He lowered his head to kiss her stomach, but one of her hands slipped over his head and gave his hair a sharp tug.

 

“What?” he asked, lifting his head with question marks in his eyes.

 

She gave his hair another tug and lifted her chin so that her head rolled back against the pillow. He moved his hands out from under her thighs, one at a time, to put them down higher, next to her shoulders and under her arms. He lowered his hips just enough to brush his cock against her. His balls tingled as they slid against the lace covering her center.

 

“Is this what you want?” he asked, looking down as he hovered over her, noticing how her eyelids had drooped ever so slightly as he continued to brush against her.

 

Stella released his hair and Hank moved to his knees to sit back on his heels. Her eyes narrowed in obvious annoyance, but she relaxed when his hands came up against her sides to pull her panties from her hips. He maneuvered her legs to one side to get them past her ankles and then she immediately moved her foot back to the other side of him so her thighs were open to him.

 

Hank took one look at her face and knew he wasn’t going to get any exploration of her body done tonight. He put his hand between her legs and she was so wet it was like sinking into warm, melted butter. She certainly didn’t need any preparation from him and it was a little disappointing because he really wanted to taste her. Instead, he removed his hand from her and grabbed his cock, coating himself in her wetness even as he leaned over her leg to find a condom in his nightstand.

 

Stella shifted her hips and he glanced at her as he rolled the condom down his penis. Her whole body seemed to be throbbing with anticipation. He could see it in the way she breathed, chest flushed pink with heat. Her nipples were dark and peaked with arousal. He was dying to take one of those breasts into his mouth and play with one of those rosy tips with his tongue. He could also see it in the restrained way she arched her lower back to roll her hips under his gaze.

 

Hank moved back over her on his hands and knees. He dipped his head to kiss her and came down to lean on one elbow. She rolled her head out of his kiss to look down and watch as he guided himself into her body. It was an erotic experience for him, watching her watch them as he pushed into her. He stopped when she took the left side of her bottom lip between her teeth and her eyes slid shut.

 

He thrust into her with a slow, easy pace, wanting to work his way up to hard and fast, if she would let him. She opened her eyes once he began to move and wrapped her legs around him, ankles locked at his lower back. Her hands wandered to his ass and she pressed her fingers into the underside of his cheeks to urge him deeper every time he pulled out.

 

For awhile, the only sounds in the room were the wet slap of skin on skin and their combined harsh breathing. Then Stella gave a soft moan as she moved one hand up his back and his dick swelled with pride in having caused her to break her silence. She moved her other hand in between their bodies and he felt her fingers manipulating her own swollen flesh just above where they were joined.

 

Hank was so close to coming, but he wanted Stella to be able to finish before he did. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold out so he deepened his thrusts, making them harder, but slower, holding as long as he could before slamming back into her. She arched her neck and he scraped his top teeth over the join of her shoulder and neck. Her hand stopped moving and she squeezed his hips with her thighs. He let go of his will to hold back his climax any longer just as she shuddered against him.

 

Before he collapsed on top of her, Hank rolled over to his back, breathing hard from exertion. The air felt cool on his damp, heated skin. Stella folded one arm up behind her head and the other lay across her stomach. He wanted to roll over and spend some time paying homage to her breasts, but he didn’t think it would be appreciated. This woman made him unsure of himself in ways he wasn’t accustomed to.

 

Hank got up from the bed and went to the bathroom to clean himself up. He wondered about sleeping arrangements. He liked holding a woman, but Stella didn’t strike him as someone who liked to cuddle. In fact, he wasn’t even sure she would accept another presence while she slept. The sex was enthusiastic and uninhibited, but also a little distant and impersonal. He would offer to leave her the room and take the couch, or Charlie’s room.

 

When he made his way back into his room, Stella was standing at the open door to the deck wearing a pale, rose-colored, silk robe. He grabbed his underwear from the floor and slipped them on as he came to stand behind her.

 

“I assumed you were exaggerating about being able to hear the ocean from your room,” she said.

 

“One of the benefits of a beach house.”

 

Stella turned and put a hand on Hank’s chest for a fleeting moment before she headed to the bathroom. He opened the windows and shut the door while she was gone. He also picked up their trail of clothes and tossed it all onto the nearest chair. He got himself a glass of water from the kitchen, and then another for her. She wandered in before he made his way back to the bedroom and took the glass he offered.

 

“I can sleep on the couch,” he said. “If you need me to.”

 

“Why would I need you to?”

 

“I don’t know. I’m just letting you know.”

 

She tapped one fingernail against the glass in her hand and then took a small sip. “It’s your bed,” she said as she walked away, obviously giving him permission to join her, but he still wondered if she wanted him there.

 

Hank followed her back to the bedroom shortly after, waiting to first finish his water. Stella had removed her robe and was clad in a pair of silk shorts and a tank top. He turned out the lights after she got into bed and then crawled in behind her. His eyes focused on her moonlit shoulder in the dark and he wanted to reach out and pull her closer, but he didn’t.

 

He woke alone, squinting in the morning light. The sliding doors to the bedroom were pulled shut. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he pushed himself out of bed and yawned. He pulled a pair of jeans on, tucking down his slight morning erection. He wasn’t all that aroused, but he could be if given the right stimulation.

 

Stella was on the couch, a file folder of material spread out before her. She looked up when Hank opened the sliding doors and began to gather her papers. He gave her a smile, which she didn’t return, but he didn’t expect her to.

 

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked, flopping down at the end of the couch, keeping his distance from her.

 

“I did, thank you,” she answered.

 

“Breakfast?”

 

“Something light, if you have it.”

 

“I can cut up some fruit.”

 

“That would be lovely.”

 

Hank got up and used the bathroom first, taking the time to brush his teeth and splash some cold water on his face. There was a closed toiletry bag on the counter and he toyed with the zipper while he brushed his teeth, but ultimately left it closed.

 

He went to the kitchen and poked around the refrigerator for the fruit he knew was in there somewhere. He found half a watermelon, some cantaloupe, a kiwi and a couple oranges. There was also a brown banana and a questionable apple, which he threw away before slicing up the rest of what he found.

 

Stella did reward him with one of her slight smiles when he set the tray of food down on the coffee table. He presented her with a fork and she hesitated before choosing a chunk of cantaloupe.

 

“I can make a mean mimosa,” Hank said. “About the full extent of my talent in the kitchen, if you’re interested.”

 

“Sure,” she answered.

 

It took him no time at all to fix two glasses and he handed Stella one before he sat down again, sitting next to her this time. He was pleased to find that a good portion of the fruit was missing. The same journal he saw her with at the hotel was open on her lap and she shut it, placing it on her other side on top of the file folder. She speared a slice of watermelon and then took a sip of her drink.

 

“What are you working on?” Hank asked. “Or is it top secret?”

 

“It’s not secret,” she said. “I’m not meant to be working on it though.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“It’s no longer my case.”

 

“Bummer.”

 

Stella brought the mimosa to her lips and nodded slowly before she took a drink. “Yes,” she agreed. “You can say that. It’s not easy to take my mind off of it.”

 

“We’ll have to come up with a distraction for you.”

 

“Will we?”

 

“I’m sure if I think hard enough…” Hank leaned towards Stella and touched his lips to the back of her jaw. He pulled the collar of her silk robe off her shoulder and kissed the bare spot between the strap of her tank top and neck.

 

Stella leaned back into the couch, still sipping her mimosa as she unknotted the sash of her robe with one hand. Hank slid from the couch to his knees and put his glass on the table. He opened Stella’s legs and inserted himself between her knees.

 

“Don’t want any accidents,” he said, taking her glass out of her hand and setting it next to his.

 

“No, I suppose we don’t.”

 

Hank started with her right breast, tracing the outline of her erect nipple visibly puckering the fabric of her tank top with his thumb. He bent to take the hardened peak between his teeth.

 

“Have you always been a breast man?” Stella asked. Her voice was absent of the breathy arousal that Hank hoped for. He turned his eyes up towards her face. Her eyes were closed, but she had the look of someone in peaceful meditation. He lifted his head from her chest and slipped his hand under her shirt, climbing up over her ribs to cup the underside of her breast with the vee of his thumb and index finger.

 

“Depends on the breasts,” he murmured.

 

“Breasts are breasts.”

 

“Untrue. Not all breasts are created equal.” He moved his hand higher to cover her fully with his palm, squeezing lightly. “These fit perfectly in my hand,” he said, squeezing again and sliding his thumb over to press into her nipple. “Like, so.”

 

Stella rolled her head to the side and softly sighed. Not the sigh of a stimulated woman, but more like a sigh of someone at the end of a nice massage. Her eyes opened into a drowsy squint and Hank pressed his body against hers to kiss her. Her mouth was cold from the fruit and he tasted the champagne on her tongue.

 

One of Stella’s hands rose to touch the back of Hank’s neck. Her fingers combed through his hair from his nape to the back of his head. Her nails scraped his scalp, making his head tingle and his dick harden. He reluctantly let go of her breast and took his hand out from her shirt to find the waistband of her sleep shorts and panties. She was already lifting her hips and he tore his mouth away from hers to undress her lower half.

 

Stella’s hand stayed on Hank’s head, guiding him to her center with the tightening of her fingers and a slight pull on his hair. He spread his knees to lower his chest and teased her by kissing the smooth skin below her navel. He ducked his head out of her grip and sat back on his heels, taking her ankles into his hands and lifting her feet to put them on the edge of the coffee table. He slid his hands under her backside and pulled slightly so that her knees bent and she was closer to the edge of the couch and his face.

 

There was only a hint of dampness between Stella’s legs. Since in his limited experience with her, Hank had only known her to be dripping with anticipation, he hesitated. Maybe she didn’t want this.

 

“You stop and I’ll fucking kill you and make it look like an accident,” Stella murmured.

 

Hank glanced up and saw her watching him with hooded eyes. He didn’t want to know how it was possible for her to read his mind, but he was a little embarrassed he was that transparent. She shook his confidence in ways no one but Karen had, and he thought never would.

 

Stella put her hand back on Hank’s head as he lowered it towards her. He licked and kissed the inside of her thighs, smiling a little to himself as she shifted her hips when he purposefully rubbed his stubbly cheeks against her skin. He put his hand on her stomach to keep her from squirming and swept his thumb down, feeling for the hidden pebble guaranteed to bring her pleasure. He pulled at her skin, exposing the sensitive cluster of nerves and sucked her flesh into his mouth.

 

Stella drew in a sharp breath and her hips twisted under Hank’s hand. He pressed her down and sucked harder. She squirmed against him and he felt the liquid evidence of her arousal trickle down his chin as he rolled her flesh between his lips. He was determined not to use his hands, only his mouth.

 

Hank pressed his shoulders into the back of Stella’s thighs and pushed her legs open wider. Her feet slipped from the table and her heels bounced against his back. He lifted his head just a little and slid his tongue up her folds, taking her juices with him. He returned to the small knot of pleasure, flicking his tongue against it a few times and then circling around it with the tip.

 

Stella made a noise, some vague attempt to speak. It sounded like a word, but not quite a word. He considered stopping for a moment to ask her what she said, tormenting her by taking his mouth away, but he really wanted to get her off and his dick was just as impatient for it. He kept his hips away from the couch, afraid he would start humping the cushions if he got close enough.

 

“Come on,” Hank urged, and slid his tongue through her folds again. “Come on, Stella.”

 

She made that same noise again. Several times, actually, and her thighs closed against his ears so that he couldn’t hear anything but the reverberation of his own groans as he sucked her into oblivion.

 

“Fuck,” Hank murmured, wiping his mouth against her quivering thigh. His cock was painfully hard, but it was starting to turn from a pleasurable ache into the more serious pain of a case of blue balls. He unzipped his pants, sighing as soon as he was free of the constriction and began to stroke himself.

 

“Let me,” Stella breathed, her legs sliding off his shoulders. She tugged on his hair again, pulling a little more roughly than before. He thought she wanted to give him another blow job, but she was out of breath, looking at him with the glassy eyes of euphoria.

 

Hank took her hand and moved it down to his cock. She gave a small pull and he groaned, but she relaxed her hand almost immediately.

 

“Come up here,” she said.

 

With great effort, Hank pushed his arms up and put one knee on the couch, trying to stand. Stella wrapped an arm around his back and before he knew it, he was inside her, her legs around his back, thighs squeezing his hips. He groaned again, unable to stop himself from thrusting into her with fervor. He was so close to coming before he started fucking her, he was going to be over just as quick as it started and he began to back away from her, but she locked her ankles and wound both arms around his shoulders.

 

“No condom,” he panted. “Have to pull out.”

 

“It’s okay,” she said. “Come inside me.”

 

“Gonna come,” he groaned.

 

“Come inside me.”

 

He let go, moaning her name and pressing his face down into the couch cushions by her head. She moved her arms from his shoulders to grip his butt, fingers delving inside his pants to squeeze and knead his bare skin as he emptied himself. He waited to catch his breath before he moved, even after he shrank out of her. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest, slowing moderately. He licked his lips, tasting the salt of her dried on his mouth.

 

“For your own peace of mind,” he said, “I want you to know that was not as reckless as you might think. I had-”

 

“A vasectomy,” she interrupted. “I know. And I know you’re clean.”

 

Hank lifted his head and gave her a questioning look.

 

“Your phone number isn’t the only thing I got,” she answered.

 

“My medical records? Isn’t that illegal?”

 

“You have an arrest record. Several, actually. And a trial account. I read them.”

 

Hank slid back from the couch and sat on his heels, grimacing as he tucked his sticky penis back into his pants. He would need to clean up soon or suffer the consequences, but he was intrigued by her knowledge of him. The fact that she was a cop, knew his blemished past probably better than he did and was still here was fascinating.

 

“It doesn’t bother you, Sherlock? I’m not always on the best terms with the law.”

 

“I suppose I’d feel a bit differently if you were a convicted murderer.”

 

“Not that I know of.”

 

“I don’t believe you’re a criminal either.”

 

“Ah, well, you’ve only been here a day. Give me time.”

 

Stella blinked lazily at him for a few moments and then sat up suddenly, closing her robe over her lap. She reached past Hank to take her mimosa and then picked up her discarded shorts. The panties fell from her grasp as she stood and Hank scooped them up.

 

“Hey,” he said, slingshotting her underwear towards her hip as she moved away. She caught them as she turned and he was impressed by her quick reflexes. “You need anything?” he asked.

 

“I’d like to take a shower.”

 

“Need any help washing your back?”

 

“I think I’ll do fine.”

 

“How about help washing your front?”

 

“Well, it’s your shower,” she answered, sauntering towards the bathroom with her mimosa still in hand. His confidence shrank again, but he got up to follow.

 

Hank didn’t fuck her in the shower, but he did make good on his offer to help her wash her back, and her front. He caressed her body as much as she would let him with his soapy hands; lightly massaged her shoulders, cupped her breasts from behind, kneaded the soft slope of her hips. She stood with her eyes closed, mostly passive, letting out the occasional contented sigh, which led him to believe his touch wasn’t altogether unappreciated. He did a quick scrubbing of his own body and then left her to finish her shower alone while he shaved at the sink.

 

Hank went to his room to get dressed and returned to the bathroom when he heard the water stop. Stella stood with a towel tucked around her chest, combing her wet hair. He watched her and she gave him a glance over her shoulder.

 

“Have you ever been to LA?” he asked.

 

“No, I haven’t,” she answered.

 

While he was back in his room, he’d decided the best way to keep her distracted was to keep her busy. He wasn’t big on sightseeing, and he remembered her saying she wasn’t much of a tourist, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t find a few things to interest her.

 

“I’d like to show you some places,” he said.

 

“What kind of places?” she asked.

 

“Nothing touristy. Well, not very. Just places.”

 

“All right,” she agreed. “Take me to places.”

 

Hank left Stella to get ready and cleaned up their makeshift breakfast, downing the rest of his mimosa before storing the leftover fruit in a container. He went out onto the deck to smoke while he waited. His fingers were itching with inspiration and he looked back towards the table where his typewriter sat. There were a lot of thoughts running through his head; thoughts of her, of Karen, of mysterious women with the power to bring men to their knees.

 

He had been daydreaming about Helen of Troy when Stella joined him on the deck, only in the modern day and age, it was the breasts that started a bar fight instead of the face that launched a thousand ships. Stella was dressed in what she probably thought was casual; black linen pants and a white sweater with ¾ sleeves. At least she was wearing a pair of slip on shoes and not heels.

 

He drove them down PCH, through Santa Monica, to Venice, and parked by his old loft. She surprised him with the adventurous request for tacos at a taco truck they passed and he happily bought her three. They ate while watching the skateboarders at the concrete park practice and show off their tricks.

 

They walked through the canals and he pointed out specific tidbits about the architecture he’d picked up from Karen along the way, making himself a little melancholy with nostalgia for his former neighborhood. He tamped it all down and took her on the complicated maze of streets to the inland walk, hooking his finger through hers to guide her down the narrow path towards the overgrown stretch of trees and vines canopying the walkway between houses. She kept her finger hooked through his as they strolled through, pausing every once in awhile to admire an outlandish garden, and he hid his smile from her.

 

He turned them back towards the promenade when they emerged onto real streets and headed for the Hotel Erwin and the rooftop lounge. It was still early in the afternoon and there were only a few couples and a small group of college kids on the deck overlooking the boardwalk. He bought her a drink and they sat beneath an umbrella, watching the street performers on the boardwalk and the swaying palm trees on the beach.

 

Wanting to get them to Griffith Park before the sunset, he cut the people-watching and took them back to the car before it got too late. He stopped at a Whole Foods, which felt like cheating her of an LA experience a little bit, but he needed something quick, easy, and portable to bring with them for dinner. A short hike later after the drive into the park and they reached a small section of deserted picnic tables by a dirt path into the trees.

 

“I want you to know something,” he said, stopping Stella from taking a sip of the wine he’d poured out into plastic cups as she spread out their dinner.

 

“What’s that?” she murmured.

 

“Alcohol is prohibited in the park,” he whispered, winking at her as he took a drink.

 

“I’ll plead ignorance as a foreigner,” she responded, raising a brow at him as she took a drink.

 

“To criminal behavior.” He lifted his cup and bumped it against hers.

 

By the time they finished eating, it was getting to be dusk. They cleaned up the trash and took it back to the car to find a receptacle. They drove through the winding road across the park to the Griffith Observatory. They stood together on the terrace waiting for the sun to fade, although his eyes were on her more than the sunset. He wondered if he’d discovered the meaning of ‘crystal blue persuasion’ as he watched the orange light cast reflections in her eyes. His fingers itched again and gripped the railing where they stood to avoid clenching his hands into fists. Maybe he was the one that needed distracting.

 

“It’s beautiful,” Stella said, as the sky grew darker and lights in the valley blinked on, like an electric carpet coming to life.

 

“Yeah,” he agreed. It was a view he would admit to taking for granted, much like how Stella had shrugged off the view of London from her hotel room.

 

Stella shivered and he let go of the railing to step behind her and rub her arms. It wasn’t cold out, but the temperature had dropped as the sun set. He pointed out the Hollywood sign to her as they walked back to the car. As they drove down the hill, he put his hand on her knee and she put her hand over his.

 

Hank opened up the doors to the deck when they got home and much like the night before, he started a fire in the pit and flopped down in one of the deck chairs to watch Stella as she stood at the railing.

 

“Will you turn off the lights in the house?” Stella asked.

 

“Sure,” he answered, and got up from his chair to flip the switches.

 

The fire sparked and he turned the gas down a little lower before he leaned against the rail next to her. After an extended silence, she turned herself around, placing her back to the ocean and her elbows on the rail. She looked up at Hank, her eyes shifting across his face and down to his chest like she was studying a map. She bent her wrist up and touched his arm with her index finger.

 

Hank straightened and Stella slid into the space between him and the railing. She tipped her head back as he leaned down again, trapping her inside his arms as he rested his elbows on the soft wood by her shoulders. He brushed his lips across hers, lightly, back and forth, back and forth, until she opened her mouth and bit down very gently on his lower lip. She let him go after a few seconds and then soothed the spot with her tongue.

 

Hank pressed his hips into Stella’s ribs and the rail squeaked a little from the pressure. She reached between their bodies and rubbed the heel of her hand against the front of his jeans. She pulled her head back, continuing to work him with her hand, but there was a look of disappointment in her eyes.

 

“Give him a minute,” Hank said. “Sometimes he’s slow to wake up.”

 

Impatient as ever, Stella unzipped his fly and pulled him out into the open. She knelt down, pushing his jeans down off his hips as she lowered herself. Kneading his ass with strong fingers, she licked the underside of his shaft from root to tip, urging his bobbing penis to stand at attention with the flick of her tongue. It only took a few passes to have him saluting proudly. She stretched her neck back to look up at him, shaking her hair over her shoulders, and took over stroking him with her hand.

 

A loud crash of an ocean wave startled him and her jerked in her hand. She smiled broadly as she pet him like she was soothing a frightened puppy and he felt a little ridiculous, but he couldn’t help but grin back. Holding on to his dick with one hand and his hip with the other, she got to her feet.

 

“This isn’t going to work,” Hank murmured, as Stella turned her back on him and gripped the railing, spreading her legs and pushing her hips out as though she was preparing to be frisked. He was too tall and she was too short for what she was propositioning.

 

“Make it work,” she answered, reaching down to unbutton her pants with one hand.

 

Hank looked around for inspiration. A deck chair would be too unstable. The stairs to the hot tub were portable. He squeezed Stella’s hips once and took a few shuffling steps to the side to drag the riser over with his foot. She moved her feet back as he kicked it in place in front of her and moved up on the first step.

 

“Perfect,” he said, running his hands over her backside before tugging her pants down to her thighs.

 

Stella shifted her feet as far apart as she could on the riser and her ass swayed tantalizingly by Hank’s pelvis. He put a hand on her hip and gripped his cock with the other. It took a few tries to find her entrance. It was dark and the angle wasn’t helping much. She finally reached down and parted her folds with two fingers and he was able to slide in. It was a shallow, tight fit, and he was afraid to move too much lest he slip out of her.

 

“Lean forward, Baby,” he said. Her body tensed, but then she relaxed and lowered her shoulders, her ass pushing against his hips. He squeezed her hip and slid a hand up her spine, under the soft sweater. Her skin was warm and damp with sweat, so he pushed the sweater up and hooked his arm under her waist to help her disentangle it from her arms and keep her bent position.

 

Hank pulled out of her slowly, testing how far he could go before he pushed back into her again. He bent over her so that his abdomen rested on her lower back and put his hands on the front of her thighs. His thrusts were shallow, but each time he pushed back into her, he pulled on her legs, digging his fingers deeply into the muscles in her thighs.

 

The railing Stella held creaked with every thrust and mingled with the sound of her quiet whimpers and the crash of the ocean. He knew she must be close when her knees weakened and her hips dipped as she moaned. He paused for a moment and pulled her hips back up to grind his pelvis against her ass.

 

“Touch me,” Stella said, so softly he barely heard it and for a moment though it could’ve been the waves playing tricks on his ears, but she said it again and he reached around her to massage the swollen nub between her legs.

 

Hank dipped his chest lower and let go of her hip to squeeze her breast, annoyed with himself that he didn’t unhook her bra after he removed her sweater. She moaned appreciatively, however, and arched her back. He felt her thighs begin to quiver and she restlessly rotated her hips against his. His own orgasm was imminent, balls heavy and tight. With every slap against the back of her thighs, his groin tingled.

 

“Fuck,” he groaned, overtaken by his climax. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He continued to pump his hips against hers, but his thrusts were sloppy.

 

Stella took one hand off the rail and reached down, covering his hand and pressing against his fingers. He tried to move his hand out of the way for her, but she grasped his fingers and worked herself with his palm. As he shrank and slipped out of her, she pushed their fingers inside to replace the loss. She groaned from somewhere deep in her gut and shivered against him.

 

With a sigh, Stella dropped her arm and her hand dangled loosely from her side. Hank wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her up so that her back was flush against his chest. Standing on the step, her head was able to fall back onto his shoulder and he ran his hands over her abdomen as she caught her breath. He nuzzled her neck and cheek with his face.

 

“Any interest in getting in the hot tub?” he asked.

 

“Yeah, sure,” she breathed.

 

Hank slowly let Stella go, relaxing his arms little by little. He ran his hands over her body and finally rested on her hips and stepped back. She stepped backwards off the riser, guided by his hands, and then he turned her around to kiss her. Briefly, her arms encircled his neck and then she dragged her hands down his chest and pulled away.

 

They stepped out of the clothes that were caught around their feet and Stella removed her bra while Hank opened the hot tub. He pushed the riser back in place with his foot and turned the jets on. She fished inside the pocket of her pants for a hairband and tied her hair up off her neck while he went to get them towels. When he returned, she was laying back in one of the scooped seats, her head tipped against the cushioned headrest with her eyes closed.

 

“Hot enough?” Hank asked, sinking down into the bubbles on the opposite side from Stella. “Too hot?”

 

“It’s good,” she replied. Her arms floated peacefully at the water’s surface.

 

He leaned back and closed his eyes as well. He thought about getting up and lighting a joint, but he ultimately talked himself out of it. Stella may be different from all the other cops he’d met, but at the end of the day she was still a cop. Maybe she wouldn’t disapprove, but he didn’t think she’d join him and he’d much rather get high with her than simply get high in front of her. He would’ve loved to get her stoned and float with her in the languid fog that followed.

 

Hank lost himself in his imagination for a bit. He remembered the days of passing joints with Karen, lying in bed listening to scratchy music on the Hi-Fi, touching her skin just because it felt nice and soft. He thought that was when he knew he loved her. Even if he lacked the motivation to fuck her, he still wanted to be with her. She was cool and funny and smart and beautiful and liked to lie with him on his rickety futon while he whispered bull-shit poetry in her ear, the kind only a grad student absorbed in his own superiority could invent.

 

The ideas he’d been suppressing all day swirled in Hank’s mind. He needed to sit down at his typewriter soon. Maybe his next book wouldn’t be a novel, it would be a series of short stories about the power of women. He could call it Under the Influence. Each woman would be like a different drug. God knows he had enough experience with both.

 

Hank sighed and opened his eyes. Stella was watching him. He rolled his head and gazed back at her. She fluttered her fingers in the bubbles and he reached over to wrap one hand around her ankle. He rubbed the top of her foot lightly and then pressed his thumb up into her arch to massage her instep.

 

“That feels nice,” Stella said.

 

“Yeah?” He continued to massage her foot for awhile and then turned off the jets before he moved on to the other. The water was getting too hot by that point.

 

It was past midnight when they got out of the hot tub. Stella shivered as she picked up her clothes and Hank sent her inside ahead of him. He closed up the hot tub and put out the fire, trying to hold the towel closed around his waist and hang on to his discarded clothes at the same time.

 

Stella surprised him by already being in bed when he went inside. She was on her stomach, head turned away from the windows. The sheets were low on her bare back and he wondered if she was fully nude beneath the covers. He toweled himself as dry as he could get and then turned out the lights before slipping in behind her. He didn’t touch her with his body, but he rested his hand lightly on her back. When she didn’t tense or shrug him away, he relaxed the weight of his arm. He breathed deeply, the scent of sex and chlorine in his nostrils, both comforting to him.

 

The windows behind him were open and the breeze and the waves lulled him into relaxation. He unconsciously shifted a little closer to Stella and rubbed his face in her hair as he fell asleep.

 

Stella was still in bed with him when he woke. She was awake, sitting up in her silk robe and reading a manuscript that he had left on his nightstand. It wasn’t one of his own, it was from a new author Charlie wanted his opinion on.

 

“Any good?” Hank rasped, stretching out beside her.

 

“I have been treated to a rather vivid description of an ecstasy-fueled threesome, however I’ve only reached page twenty so I’d be unable to render an informed opinion.”

 

“Yeah?” he said, slipping his hand under the covers to find her knee. He brushed her robe aside, curved his hand over her leg and slid up her thigh. “It turn you on at all?”

 

“Not at all.”

 

“I’ll have to tell Charlie to burn it then.”

 

Stella closed the manuscript and put it back on the nightstand. “Good morning,” she said.

 

“Good morning,” he answered, resting his head against her hip as he rubbed the inside of her thigh.

 

“You’re doing a much better job of things than that book.”

 

“And I haven’t even begun to put any effort into it either.”

 

The knuckle of Hank’s thumb grazed the side of Stella’s labia and he opened his mouth to lightly bite the swell of her hip through her robe. She stretched her arms up over her head and lifted one of her legs to kick the sheets lower.

 

“Given any thought to what you’d like to do today?” he asked.

 

“I haven’t.”

 

He rolled up on his hands and knees, sucking on the inside of her thigh as he moved over her. “We can lay on the beach,” he mumbled, his mouth full of her flesh.

 

“What was that?” Stella asked, taking a handful of his hair and tugging his head up.

 

“I said, we can lay on the beach,” he repeated, pressing her legs apart to lie between her knees. “We can drive up by Santa Barbara and go to the wineries. We can get our art on at the Getty.”

 

“Start by putting your mouth to better use and then we’ll think about the rest of the day.”

 

“Yes Ma’am.” He brought his hand up to his forehead and saluted her before he dropped his head down between her thighs.

 

The morning started much like the last. He made her come with his mouth and then he fucked her breathless until they both lay sprawled and panting. She got up to shower, but he was too sluggish to join her. He finally dragged himself out of bed and went out to the deck for a smoke.

 

Hank smiled to himself as he lit his cigarette and leaned over to pick up the panties that were peaking out from under one of the deck chairs. He balled them in his hand and after taking a drag, put them to his face and breathed deeply. Heavenly. He put them in his pocket lest he get caught and finished his cigarette.

 

Stella was drying her hair when he came back inside. He could hear the hairdryer running. He dropped the panties off in her suitcase and stripped out of the jeans he threw on to go take his own shower while she finished her hair. They ate the rest of the fruit they didn’t finish the day before and decided on the wineries.

 

It was a nice drive up north. Sunny and breezy. Stella wore a simple black wrap dress. The sleeves were long, the hem was short. She admired the coastal view and he admired her legs when he wasn’t watching the road.

 

They toured two vineyards. Stella slipped two fingers into the back pocket of Hank’s jeans as they strolled through fields of grapes and he put his arm around her waist. They sampled the wine, learned about pairings, and toured the cellars. He bought a few bottles of a Cabernet she liked and they took advantage of the picnic area to split one of the bottles along with a platter of cheese and crackers.

 

Because it was still early, they decided to tour the old mission and then took a walk along Shoreline Park. They had a seafood dinner in a low-lit restaurant with a view of the harbor. He coaxed her into conversation and was able to learn a few things about her that he found interesting; she spoke multiple languages, but she wouldn’t specify which ones or how many, the only pet she ever had was a goldfish, she broke her wrist as a child, and she disliked popcorn. It wasn’t particularly revealing, but it was something.

 

Stella fell asleep on the drive home, her body slumped and her head tilted towards him. Her hands were loosely clasped in her lap. When he parked the car in front of the beach house, he unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to look at her. She looked peaceful. He hated to have to wake her.

 

“Hey, Sherlock,” he whispered, rubbing her closed hands.

 

Stella jerked awake and sat up straight. The seatbelt locked in response and held her tight to her seat. She pushed her fingers through her hair, breathing heavily.

 

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “We’re home.”

 

“I see that,” she said.

 

“Want me to carry you inside?” He chuckled at her incredulous look. “Kidding.”

 

Stella unlatched her seatbelt, but she didn’t make a move to get out of the car. They shared a few moments of contentment, sitting quietly together and watching each other. He reached up and brushed her cheek with his finger before leaning over and giving her a lingering kiss. When he pulled back, her eyes were closed and she gave him a slight smile.

 

“Come on,” he said, opening the door. “You’ve got an early flight so let’s get you to bed.”

 

Hank kept the house dark when they walked in. They stripped out of their clothes in the dark and Hank fell into bed with a grateful sigh. Stella disappeared to the bathroom and then slipped in beside him. He was surprised when she tugged on his arm before she turned onto her side with her back against him. He put his arm around her waist and she snuggled close, so he drew her hips in and spooned up behind her. He liked having someone to hold onto and he relaxed into the rhythm of her breathing.

 

“Are you awake?” Stella asked, very quietly.

 

“Hmm, yes,” he mumbled. “Barely.”

 

She shifted her body and turned so she was facing him. He felt her breath on his cheek and he struggled to open his eyes. She put her hand on his face and gently ran her fingers down from his forehead, closing his eyes for him, and then she rested her hand on his shoulder.

 

“That case I was looking at the other morning,” she said. “The one I shouldn’t be working on.”

 

“Mmhm.”

 

“I cannot reveal any details to you, suffice to say it’s a major case I’ve been overseeing. The department feels it’s been moving too slowly and they were pushing my team to make an arrest. I may have stepped on some toes and the department chief removed me from the case. I have to appeal to a review board next week to defend my conduct.”

 

Hank let his eyes drift open while she spoke and he rubbed his thumb back and forth over one of the dimples in her lower back. She sighed when she came to a stop and her mouth pulled down into a frown.

 

“I’m absolutely confident in my assessment of the case so far,” she said. “If they decide to make an arrest before I’m able to deliver my appeal, they’ll never have enough evidence to get a conviction. I’m less concerned with the review of my performance than I am that a guilty man will walk free.”

 

“Sherlock always gets his man,” Hank said, massaging her tailbone. “You didn’t come out here for business, did you?”

 

“I couldn’t sit still in London and wait to be called to the carpet.”

 

“Why LA?”

 

“It felt as far from London as I could get.” She took a pause, running her thumb up the side of his neck and back. “I also hoped you would be here.”

 

“Lucky you,” he said, suppressing a grin. “Lucky me.”

 

“I set my alarm for six. Is that too early? Or too late?”

 

“It’s fine.”

 

Stella inhaled deeply and then turned over in his arms. He pulled her back into his body so he was spooning her again and she put her arm over his. The room was grey when he awoke. He had turned onto his back during the night and she had turned to her stomach. He eased out of bed as quietly as possible and threw on a pair of jockey shorts.

 

It was well before six and he didn’t want to wake her. He opened the door to the deck to let the breeze in and then shuffled outside and flopped down into one of the chairs. He watched her sleep through the open door, sadness coming over him at the thought of her leaving. He would miss her. He liked her. Once upon a time she was a lady he met in a bar and it was easy to walk away. Now, she was a lady who had spent a weekend in his bed and it was a little harder.

 

Stella roused and kicked the sheets away as she stretched. He thought about going back to join her, but he stayed where he was and watched her wake. She sat up and he followed the line of her naked back as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and bent down. When she straightened up, it was with his t-shirt coming down over her head. He could be disappointed about missing the view of her breasts as she turned around, but the fact she was in his clothes was more arousing than the nudity.

 

She weaved across the room in the drunk stagger of the half-awake, catching herself at the door. He stayed stretched out in his chair, grinning at her. She stumbled out and crawled over his legs and into his lap. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, her bare ass on his thighs, and her knees were pressed to his hips.

 

“It’s a nice look for you,” he said, running his hand up her thighs to squeeze her cheeks.

 

“This old thing?” she answered, voice low and sleepy.

 

“Sleep well?”

 

“Mm.” She dragged her hands over his pectorals and traced his nipples with a feather-light touch. It sent a shot of electricity straight to his groin.

 

Stella shifted back a few inches on his lap and pulled her hair over her shoulder as she bent her neck. She sucked lightly on his right nipple and her fingernails rasped over the sparse hair on his chest. He groaned softly and shifted his legs as the blood rushed to his cock. She lifted her head and switched to the other side, offering the same attention to his left nipple.

 

“Are you a breast woman?” he teased, running his fingers through her hair.

 

She made a noise in the negative and sat back up. Her hands fell to his hips and she inched her fingers into the tight space between himself and the cushions. “More of an ass woman,” she said, squeezing what she could.

 

“How do I rate?”

 

“Highly.” She gave him another squeeze and then loosened her hold and slid her right hand over his hip to stroke him over his shorts. “What would you like?”

 

“I have a choice?”

 

She nodded, cupping and squeezing softly as she watched his face. If they had more time, there were about 75 more positions he would like to try with her, but they didn’t, have time. The sadness came over him again and he rubbed her thighs with the heel of his hands.

 

“I like being inside you,” he said.

 

She eased his underwear over his burgeoning erection and he lifted his hips for her to bring them down his thighs. She sat up on her knees and gripped the back of her thighs. Taking his cock in hand, she guided him into her, sinking down so slowly that he broke into a sweat trying not to surge up into her. He was fully embedded within her when she came to rest on his lap again, and she sat completely still, though he could see her nostrils flaring with every shallow breath she took.

 

He’d asked her to slow down almost every time they fucked, but she had always pushed it hard and fast. He was about to discover that slow and easy with her was an exquisite torture. Her arms rested on his shoulders and she gripped the back of the chair for leverage as she tipped her hips forward, clenched her thighs, and then relaxed. The tiny muscles along her inner walls massaged and pulled at his cock.

 

Hank held onto her as she kept up the slow rocking of her hips. Her head fell back at a certain point and her mouth dropped open. He pushed his shirt up over her hips, just enough to slide his hands up inside and massage her breasts. He tried not to watch them, but it was impossible not to look down at where their bodies were joined. His pubic hair glistened with the wetness that seeped out of her. He banged his head back and squeezed his eyes shut.

 

Stella moaned quietly and he opened his eyes. Her shoulders tensed and she thrust her chest into his hands, but then she relaxed and kept rocking. Her hips quaked lightly, but she didn’t stop and she moaned again. Her face contorted slightly and she held still for just a moment, but resumed her motions.

 

Holy shit, she’s coming, Hank thought. He counted at least four times and by then her body seemed to slump with exhaustion. He was so enraptured that it helped stave off his climax, but when he occurred to him that she’d just ridden his dick into multiple orgasms, he came with a shout and pulled her limp body against his chest. They fell back to sleep wrapped together and twenty minutes later her alarm went off and she untangled herself from him, thighs sticky and legs trembling.

 

They showered quickly, or rather, she showered quickly and he lingered behind with the smell of her soap. He wondered, logistically, if two people could make a relationship work from across a continent. Not just across a continent, across an ocean and a continent. Probably not. He had a hard enough time making a relationship work across a town.

 

She organized her suitcase while he got dressed. He watched her things disappear into compartments and for a split second, he wished he’d kept the panties he found on the deck as a token of remembrance. Not that he would be forgetting her any time soon, but still. They stood together in his room, he in his jeans and t-shirt, she in her pencil skirt and blouse, The Writer and the Lady Detective, completely mismatched on paper, but wildly compatible in reality.

 

“Ready?” he asked.

 

Her garment bag was draped over one arm and her hand rested easily on the extended handle of her suitcase. “I’m ready,” she answered.

 

The traffic Gods smiled at them on the drive to the airport. He got her there before the requisite two-hour check-in window for foreign travel. LAX was a cacophony of car horns and traffic whistles. He hopped out of the car to grab her bags from the trunk before she could protest and he set her suitcase on the curb while she draped the garment bag over her shoulder. In her heels and on the curb, she was nearly eye-level with him.

 

They looked at each other, neither knowing what to say. Hank took her face in his hands and kissed her lips, lingering until she put a hand on his chest and pushed him away. He brushed his hand down her arm to her wrist and held her hand to his chest for a few moments longer.

 

“Well,” she said. “If you’re ever in London.”

 

“I don’t even know your last name, Sherlock.”

 

Stella gave him a Mona Lisa smile and bent to extend the handle of her suitcase. He watched her walk away, the very definition of elegance and poise, until she disappeared through the revolving glass doors into the ticketing area. He sighed and slipped his sunglasses on before jumping into the driver’s seat and turning the car on.

 

Hank’s phone pinged at him and he pulled it out of his pocket to read the text. The number was blocked, but the screen read ‘GIBSON.’ Stella Gibson. Seconds later, a foreign number followed. A traffic cop blew a whistle at him and he revved the engine with a smile on his face.

 

The End


End file.
